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Confusion hit me at first, and then I realized: He doesn’t know John is gone. "Sorry to tell you, but John is dead and buried," I said.
The shocked look on Ricky’s face surprised me. It told me that he'd had no idea that his enemy was out of his life for good. This was one drug dealer who had not killed John.
"What do you mean, John is dead?" he asked. "He was alive and well yesterday." He eyed me suspiciously. "What are you and John trying to pull?"
I stood my ground, holding Thor close at my side. "I’m telling you the truth. He died five days ago. I went to his funeral and it was John they buried in the ground."
He shook his head, and his eyes narrowed menacingly. "You're high on something, Miss Uptown. I don’t know what stuff you’re taking, but you’re mixed up. John was down here yesterday. I saw him myself."
I thought about how Steven resembled his older brother John. Maybe Ricky had mistaken Steven for John – but how was that possible? Steven was living in prison, not on Skid Row.
"I’m not high. I know what I’m talking about. John Collins was buried yesterday. I stood at his grave myself." What was wrong with Ricky? He was the one on drugs, not me.
He edged a step closer. The same anger I saw at my last visit was growing. I could see it in his face. Thor stiffened and began growling. My sweat-damp hands were slick on the leash. Ricky saw me glance at my dog, and to my relief the man stepped back.
"Look. I'm telling you that you're dead wrong. I know John Collins when I see him and I saw him yesterday just in front of that pawn shop." He gestured to a shop across the street from where we stood. It had a rusted sign on the front and a flickering neon light in the window announced "open," even though the "n" looked more like an "r."
But Ricky still had more to say. "He was talking to two buyers when I saw him. And I'm positive that it was John Collins."
I was more than stumped at his words. He seemed to be telling the truth – but did drug dealers tell the truth?
"Where were you the day John was murdered?" I asked him. I gave him the date and approximate time of day.
For the first time, the dull skin around his eyes crinkled. His hoarse laugh surprised me. "What’s so funny?" I asked him.
He spread the fingers on his right hand as far as they could be parted. His fingernails housed dirt and unknown debris, but what I really noticed was that his index finger was severely bent in the wrong place.
"I have a solid alibi for this one," he said. "I was at the walk-in clinic three streets over from here. I waited almost all afternoon for my turn. They told me I had a broken finger and two more that were bruised. They wrapped them up for me with splints and I left about five o’clock."
"Where are the splints?" I asked. "Surely they told you to leave them on."
"Ha. I can’t do business with bandaged fingers. I pulled 'em off."
Well, that explained the deformed index finger that would end up permanently bent. But I was frustrated and felt I was going in circles. This man not only had the misfortune of damaged fingers, his mind was as messed up as any I'd ever heard of. The streets took their toll on people like Ricky Thomas.
"Okay. Look, Miss Uptown – for some reason, I kind of like you. I can see you don’t belong down here. Maybe I can help you out."
"Yeah, well, don’t suggest any of your party favors. I’m not interested."
He lifted his bent-fingered hand and waved it as if clearing the air. "I can give you the name of someone who can get you whatever it is you want."
"Uh – whatever I want?"
"Sure. You can get anything in this world for the right price. And if you're trying to find out who killed somebody who lives on this side of town, I’ll point you to Licorice Billy."
"Licorice Billy."
"Yeah, sure. He knows everything that goes on around here and everybody who does it. And he'll also tell you that John Collins isn’t dead." He shuffled a little on the cracked sidewalk. "Licorice Billy is a fighter. He got into it more than once with John."
I couldn’t imagine John physically fighting anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. If Licorice Billy and John argued a lot, what was that about?
I took a closer look at Ricky. He still had not bathed since I last saw him. Facial expressions could not be detected from behind the mass of facial hair, but his eyes looked sincere. I was sure he thought that if he could find someone to back his story about seeing John recently, it would get him off the hook as a suspect.
"And just where would I find this licorice guy?" I asked. "This Licorice Billy? I don’t need him to back your story, since I know John is dead. But I might be able to get some information from him that I need."
I was reluctant to stay down here much longer. An uneasy feeling had washed over me more than once in the few minutes I'd spent with Ricky. Striking up familiar relationships on this side of town weren’t exactly in my plans.
"Billy hangs out in different places around town. You can’t miss him. He's always got a piece of licorice hanging out of his mouth."
